A Study in Potions
by Rowena Lexicon
Summary: Potterlock AU, eventual Johnlock. The TV series re-written with all your favourite characters as the young Wizards and Witches of Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

_August 31__st_

My Father died when I was still a baby. Killed by Death Eaters in a time when no one was safe and nothing was certain. I don't remember much, obviously. I remember the Cruciatus curse, though. I was only a baby when it was cast on me, and I owe my limp to it- the one I've had for as long as I can remember. It's gotten worse; it's been years since I was able to walk without a stick. The Muggles all tease me about it, and some Wizards, too.

My Mum was a Muggle. That was why they killed Dad, because he married her. She worries about me constantly, and she's the one who forced me to get a stupid bloody therapist who won't do a damn thing to help.

I do still have nightmares. Mum and Harry know that. But it's nothing substantial- just flashes of pain and green light and screams. Nothing worth calling in a therapist for.

It's not like she's done anything to help. I know I've still got trust issues since Mum sent Harry out on her own for a year. I know I don't like Muggles, and I know I shouldn't. Making me write a blog isn't going to stop me hating Muggles. Just because I'm using their technology doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to love them.

I don't hate them because I'm a prejudiced Death Eater or something like that. I hate them because they made my life miserable, just because I'm different. I hate them because they resist any and everything they don't understand. My Mum doesn't understand Harry, so she kicked her out. An eleven-year-old girl, at the time. Harry found refuge at Hogwarts and at the end of the year Mum accepted her back with open arms. Harry forgave her. I didn't.

Harry's thirteen now, and it's my turn to get the Hogwarts letter. The best thing about it being that psychotherapists don't follow you to Hogwarts. And laptops aren't allowed within the castle grounds, so there go the hopes of me keeping a blog. Nothing ever happens to me anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

October 12th  
"Jeff! Jeff, you're gonna have to get a school broom!"  
"I won't! I can't fly…"  
"Look, it's that or convincing Hagrid to let you waltz through the Forbidden Forest to get to Hogsmeade! Ask one of the Quidditch Captains to help you or something…"  
"Katia, can't you come with me?"  
"What, are you scared?"  
"No, but what if Georgina catches me? Catches us?"  
"That's why we're going separately! I'll be right behind you, I swear! And you could just dump her, you know. Then there'd only be me…"  
"We've had this discussion before, we're not going it again! Fine, I'll grab a broom."

November 26th  
"James, where the hell are you going?"  
"I'll get a broom back to the castle. Madam Rosmerta keeps a few round back. I'll be back in half an hour, tops, okay?"  
"No-one's meant to know we're out here!"  
"Exactly. I'll be back!"

January 27th  
"I can't believe Beth got made Head Girl!"  
"She's never gonna stop going on about it!"  
"Don't worry, I stole her broom!"  
"You'll get detention!"  
"Who cares? She's a right bitch. Totally deserves it."


	3. Chapter 3

_September 1st_

Mum drove us to the train station, Harry and I. Thank God she couldn't get to Platform 9 ¾. Her old Muggle car trundled into the car park and she left us with a kiss on the cheek and a tearful goodbye. Harry could bring herself to look sad, but I was too excited to care very much.

Mum and Harry are still uncomfortable around each other, no matter what they said. They hugged stiffly for a few moments before Harry lifted the two worn trunks out of the boot of the car and handed one to John.

The thing was, Harry hadn't been kicked out because she was a Witch. Mum had married a Wizard with a full knowledge of who he was. No, Harry had been sent to Hogwarts in shame because Mum had seen her kissing another girl in the shed in the garden.

"You're only eleven!" Mum had yelled, amidst homophobic slurs. "You can't make decisions that will affect the rest of your life right now!"

"IT'S NOT A FUCKING CHOICE!" Harry had screamed, tears falling from her eyes.

"That's it! OUT! OUT OF MY HOUSE! AND DON'T COME BACK!"

It had been the middle of summer and Harry had found a room in the Leaky Cauldron to stay in until school started. She'd had to wander around London by herself, with only the money in Gringotts that our Father had left for her and only her.

So it was still a bit awkward for them. Mum still hated, loathed, in fact, the idea of Harry kissing other girls. I was still scared and more than a little confused. But I'd had to grow up fast, faster than I'd care to admit, and I couldn't express my doubts.

We were on the train two minutes before it left, and Harry grabbed her best friend Clara's hand and dragged her off to a compartment, leaving me by myself. I soon found an empty seat, and shoved my trunk onto the rack before slumping down and staring out of the window at all of the Wizards and Witches who were seeing their children off from the platform. I wished I had a parent who could do that.

"This seat empty?" a rough voice asked.

I turned and saw a pudgy young boy with a Hufflepuff scarf tied loosely around his neck.

"Mike?" I replied in disbelief.

"Johnny-boy? Oh my God, haven't seen you in ages! Ever since I was expelled for setting the school roof on fire!"

I blinked at him, barely believing he was there. Mike Stamford had been two years above me at my Primary School, and there'd always been something a little odd about him. Of course, I'd suspected what it was, but although we'd been friends of a sort, I'd never confronted him about it.

"Yeah, I got fat," he said, to fill the silence.

"Oh," I replied. "Well, you're not really…" I trailed off, because he really was.

We sat in companionable silence for most of the train journey, and he ordered far too much food off the trolley and shared none of it.

"I'm worried I won't find any friends, y'know," I was saying pitifully. "It's not Primary School anymore. And who'd want to be friends with me, anyway?"

"Do I not count?" he laughed.

"You're two years above me," I said. "You've got all your mates in your year…I've got no-one."

"It's funny, someone said the exact same thing to me about a week ago. 'I've got no-one'. 'S not true, though. He's got his brother."

"Who has?" I inquired, intrigued.

"He'll be here, somewhere," Mike replied. "C'mon."

We walked down three compartments before Mike stopped us, grinning goofily through the glass at the two occupants.

One was small girl with mousy brown hair, who was literally unwrapping sweets and handing them to her companion, an infatuated look adorning her pretty features.

Her friend was a tall boy with high cheekbones, dark curly hair and pale skin. His pose was haughty, arrogant, as he took advantage of the girl next to him. He almost seemed oblivious to her crush, but the almost unnoticeable smirk on his lips suggested otherwise.

Mike pushed the door open and grinned at them.

"Molly, can you go ask the driver when we'll be arriving?" the boy asked, and 'Molly' immediately jumped to her feet and scampered off.

Mike cleared his throat as Molly pushed past us in her haste to follow the boy's orders, and he turned to us.

"Ah, Mike. May I borrow your wand?"

"Sorry, left it in my trunk. Didn't think I'd be needing it."

"Obviously," the boy sniffed.

"Uh, here, you can borrow mine," I said awkwardly, handing it to him. He took it and inspected it before muttering a few words under his breath and pointing it at the seat, with no visible result.

"Psychosomatic," he said suddenly.

"What?" I responded, bewildered.

"Your therapist. She thinks your limp is psychosomatic. I think she's probably right."

"What does that even mean…?"

"And this wand. It's your brother's, right? Your Mum bought him a new one, possibly out of guilt, and you got the hand-me-down. Shame, it could ruin your potential as a Wizard."

"How did you...?"

"And your Father, he's dead. I suppose he was where you got the Wizard blood, as your Mother is plainly a Muggle. Killed in the War, was he? Was that how you got your limp?"

"I don't…"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, by the way. And Mike, I don't _have _'friends'. Nice try, but no."

"John Watson," I replied instinctually. At that moment, Molly returns and Mike pulls me away by my arm.

"How did he…How did he _do_ that?" I demanded.

"Oh, he just does it to show off," Mike laughed. "He can be less of an arrogant asshole. Sometimes."

"No, I thought it was…brilliant. Honestly, brilliant."

"Thank you."

Mike and I whirl around, to see where the amused voice is coming from. Sherlock stands in the doorway, twirling my wand in him long fingers. He hands it to me and smirks before turning and shutting the compartment door behind him.


End file.
